Dashing Through the Snow: An Andith Christmas Fic
by Tarlea
Summary: On her way home to spend Christmas with her family, Edith gets caught in a snowstorm and crashes into a fence. She's stranded until a handsome stranger rescues her and invites her into his home, and his heart. Merry Christmas! Modern AU.
1. Dashing Through the Snow

**A/N: Merry Christmas you lovely Andith shippers! Nothing too new here, but hopefully enjoyable—a sickly sweet bundle of fluff for your stocking—because you've been so awfully nice sharing our wonderful OTP all year! I'm always grateful for your generosity and kind support! Mad love! ~Lady T**

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><p><strong>Chapter 1<strong>

Twas two days before Christmas, and _The Sketch's_ junior editor was not only stirring, she was bustling, whirling, positively skating around the office. Like an out of season honeybee she buzzed from desk to desk, ensuring her colleagues completed their work before they left on holiday. She tried to keep up a festive attitude, but as it seemed was inevitable, meeting the Christmas deadline meant jumping over hurdles and putting out fires all week long. Already she had been the receiving end of a rather nasty tirade about shift swapping over the holiday, and had spent the morning wading through letters and tweets to the editor—which always served to darken her day, but especially this time of year. In a season that was supposed to bring out the goodness and brotherhood in people, it seemed that certain persons became even more hateful and ignorant than ever. And underpinning all of this was the knowledge that tomorrow she would be going home to her parents and two _married_ sisters, while she was all alone.

Edith knew she was being unreasonable. She was a modern woman, her job fulfilled her and she had many interests and friends. She didn't _need_ a relationship. But this time of year she always found herself _wanting_ one. Christmastime, when every jewelry store, TV special, and even her own paper promoted the idea that Christmas was not complete without someone to kiss under the mistletoe, she couldn't help feeling her loneliness all the more.

When her senior partner, Michael Gregson, ducked his head into her office around lunchtime he found her bent over her desk, her head in her hands.

"Hello, what's this?" he said, making her look up.

She sighed. "Oh Michael, you know Christmas always gets me."

He came over and sat on her desk, taking one of her hands and rubbing it comfortingly.

"There's no reason why you should let it get to you. You are a fabulous editor, a fabulous boss, and a fabulous woman, and you are greatly valued by every one of us here. I don't know what I did before you came to work here," he smiled down at her, and she caught the twinkle in his eye that sometimes surfaced, that "if-I-weren't-married-you'd-be-just-my-type" look.

"Thanks, Michael, it's sweet of you to say."

"It's true. And don't you forget it," he leaned down to give her a friendly peck on the cheek. "Lunch?" he said, straightening.

She nodded. "Lunch."

Edith made it through the rest of the day and trudged up her front steps well after eight-o-clock. In her bedroom, her unpacked suitcase leered at her from the corner—but she ignored it. She was in no mood to pack. She had a late dinner of leftover pizza, plopped herself in front of the telly, drank too much wine, and went to bed.

The next morning, she woke from a fitful sleep, to bright light streaming through her window. She blinked, and then was seized with a sudden dread. She reached for her phone and checked the time. _Bollocks!_ She was going to be late. She sprang up, vaguely registering that it was snowing as she rushed around, throwing things into her suitcase. Expletives tumbled from her as she attempted to find missing shoes, gifts, and earrings. At last she stumbled out her door, dragging her suitcase. At the station she ran to catch her train, nearly missing it. As the train began to move, she noticed that by now several inches of snow had accumulated. She overheard another passenger worrying to his companion about making it to their destination, what with the ice the night before.

_Great. I have to drive through all that, and I'll probably still be late for lunch at the house. And then I'll have to suffer through Mama's speeches about punctuality and duty. As if I were still twelve._ She gave an exasperated yawn and closed her eyes, pushing against the headache she could feel brewing and wishing she had been able to stay in bed.

When she arrived at Downton Station, she trudged around the corner through the deepening snow and retrieved her car out of the garage that kept it for her while she was in London—where the underground and taxis ran everywhere she wanted to go. A glance at her dashboard clock as she pulled out of the garage elicited another curse. She was supposed to be home for lunch in forty minutes!

In a distinctly unchristmas-like mood, she cursed the last-minute holiday shoppers cluttering the crosswalks, and the slow snow-wary drivers which made it impossible for her to hurry along. Once she made it beyond the town to open roads, she was able speed up some, but the storm had increased so that she could see only a few feet in front of her. Her clock glowed 12:00. _Brilliant! Late again!_

As she thought it, she felt her tires lose their purchase with the road and was suddenly lurching uncontrollably sideways with her car as it arced across the road, feeling the terror of the inertia as her seatbelt locked against her shoulder. Then just as abruptly, her rear door collided with a fence and with an awful thunk and crunch and shatter she was blissfully still.

She sat in silence a moment, feeling the cool air rush in through the broken back window. She looked over her shoulder to see a fencepost leaning through the area where the windowpane ought to be, and exhaled a shaky. "Shit." She closed her eyes and let her head fall back against the headrest and released a stream of hot tears of utter and complete stress. Everything was going wrong today, this week, this month.

After several moments her heartbeat had returned to normal. She opened her eyes and began to look about her and assess her situation. She didn't appear to be injured, and decided she'd better get out and see how the car had fared. In addition to the broken window, it appeared she had shattered her taillight, dented both her passenger side doors, and her rearview mirror was hanging from its wires. She was wondering if her undercarriage had been spared, when she caught sight of a figure striding towards her through the storm.

_Oh great, that's all I need. The owner. These farmers will practically take you to court if you so much as climb on their fences, much less crash your car into them. _She reached into her car and found a paper and pen, which she was using to write her contact information when a tall man appeared out of the swirling snow.

"Are you alright?" he called.

"Yes, I'm fine, thanks. I'm sorry about your fence. I'll be happy to pay for any repairs," she answered, holding the paper out to him as he approached.

He surveyed her critically for a moment, before taking the paper and glancing at it.

"Edith Crawley," he read. "You're not Robert Crawley's daughter?"

"Yes." _Bloody brilliant!_ Now he was going to go complaining to Papa.

He took a few moments to examine her crumpled car.

"Well, it looks like you won't be going anywhere, and this storm is not going to let up any time soon. Let's go inside and we can talk more. You must be in need of a hot cuppa."

"Oh, well that's very kind of you, but I couldn't possibly—"

"Please, Ms. Crawley, we'll worry about this later."

"But what about your fence? I feel awful, really, and—"

"Don't worry about it. Let's just make sure you really are alright," he smiled kindly down at her.

Something in the corner of his smile gave her heart a little tug.

"Well, I suppose I _should_ call a tow truck," she said, blushing in spite of herself.

"Right then," he put out a gloved hand to help her over the broken fence.

She took it, saying "You really are being very nice about this, but I know it's really horrible of me to have done such damage to your property."

"The truth is, you're not the first person to crash into the fence just there—the ice is awful with those trees at that bend. I sometimes wonder if it wouldn't be safer for me to take down the fence."

"Oh but why should you? It was my fault. I was in a hurry," she said, a bit glumly.

He caught her tone and said comfortingly, "Come now, it isn't as bad as all that. And it's not like my sheep are going to get out."

"Do you keep sheep?" she asked anxiously.

He laughed, and Edith's heart gave a flutter. "No. I don't keep any livestock myself. The fence was merely ornamental. Old house, old fence," he said, gesturing forward.

Edith had been paying such attention to her footing that she hadn't really examined the house that was now only feet in front of her. A grand, yet somehow cozy, Georgian mansion rose before her, the snow swirling around its smoking chimneys and the frost playing on its wide windowpanes making it all the more picturesque.

He watched her admiration with satisfaction. "Welcome to Loxley House," he said cheerily.

"Loxley House? Then you must be—"

"Anthony Strallan, Bart," he smiled, "at your service."

"Oh, well, then I am doubly ashamed. Papa has nothing but good things to say about you," she said, catching his gleaming blue eyes. This time her heart began to beat rapidly, and a thrilling felicity flushed up into her cheeks.

"Ms. Crawley, I beg you not to give it another thought. I'm only glad that this incident has afforded me the pleasure of your company," he said softly, his smile twitching nervously.

Edith grinned. "Yes, I—I mean, me too," she said clumsily.

XXX

Minutes later Edith was shrugging off her coat in Loxley's rear hall, turning her head to admire the portraits looking down on her from the paneled walls. As her host led her into the library, past glittering tinsled Christmas trees and swooping pine garlands, she was struck again by the snugness of it all, not perhaps in the first style of elegance, but homey—and distinctly masculine. The library in particular suited him, with its stacks of books and overstuffed chairs. He invited her to sit in one of these, and she sank into it. He pulled an afghan from the back of the sofa and with her permission, spread it over her legs.

"There now, that's much better. I think perhaps you'd better take it easy for a little while. That chair reclines if you'd like a nap, or perhaps a cup of something?"

"Thank you, that sounds lovely."

"Tea? Or perhaps come Christmas cocoa?"

"Cocoa sounds lovely," she answered, but her smile faded into a frown as she remembered. It was Christmas Eve—and she was late for lunch with her family. "Actually, I need to call that tow," she said, digging her phone out of her pocket.

"I'll just be about that cocoa then," he said, politely retreating to the kitchen.

There, he began heating some milk in a saucepan, stirring lazily. His mind was on his unexpected guest, thoughts of her spreading his mouth into a private smile, and filling him with a warmth that had nothing to do with the stove before him. He told himself he was being a fool, but he couldn't deny that he felt himself drawn to her—that he wanted very much to become more than merely acquainted. And the best of it was, that she seemed to want that too. It was so preposterous, that an old man like himself and a vibrant young woman should want to be together, and yet it was with considerable excitement (and not a little nervousness) that he placed two cups of steaming cocoa on a tray and pushed his way through the kitchen door and into the hall.

When he entered the library, Edith was gazing into the fire and her eyes shone with glittering tears. He stood observing her for a moment, and his heart drooped. He wanted to banish all anxiety from her, to wrap her in warm comfort. He cleared his throat, and Edith blinked heavily, swiping aside her tears with the back of her hand.

"Is there anything I can do?" He asked gently, setting down the tray and handing her a steaming mug.

"Oh, I'm just being silly," she said with a sniffle. "The tow company won't come until Saturday because it's Christmas. And my mum is far from pleased that I'm missing Christmas Eve. She says they're about to decorate the tree with the kids." Her gaze dropped to her cocoa, and her sorrows struck her anew. Her lip trembled and tears began to roll down her cheeks. "It's just," she sobbed, "I've never been away from my family for Christmas. Love them or hate them, we've always spent Christmas together. And-" she stopped and swallowed hard, tears still streaming from her eyes, "the worst of it is—they probably won't even miss me."

She bowed her head now, giving vent to all the stress and exhaustion of the day, and the trauma of her accident.

Anthony came over and placed a hand chastely on her should and gave a small squeeze.

"Please don't cry. It's not as bad as all that. You're not stranded here forever," he said soothingly.

"But look at it out there!" she gestured at the window where the snow was still piling up. "There's no way I can get through that. Especially without a car, which is probably totaled."

"Lady Edith, if it would help, I'd be happy to give you a ride home, as soon as you wish it," he offered.

She looked up at him. "Anthony! I mean, _Sir_ Anthony. That's—incredibly kind of you—wonderful really. Are you sure?"

"Anthony, please. And I wouldn't have offered if I didn't mean it. I understand how important it is to spend Christmas with your family."

She frowned. "But what about you? Will you—I mean don't you have plans? Perhaps someone…special…?" On the one hand, she hoped there was no one. On the other, she couldn't bear the thought of this kind man spending Christmas Eve all alone.

"Oh, well, I was going to go to church, but with this weather, I think it might be best to stay put after sundown. As to family…I have few that I still keep in touch with. So, you won't be spoiling my Christmas," he said with a smile, heartened by the sight of her tears drying. He had the sudden desire to reach out and brush one lingering tear from her cheek, but he suppressed it. "In fact, you've improved it greatly."

Edith smiled at the compliment and he couldn't help grinning back at her. "And you mine," she said softly, falling into his affectionate blue eyes. Her eyes dropped momentarily to his lips, wanting to surrender to the impulse to lean forward and kiss them, but instead she looked into the fire and said a bit loudly, "I mean, if you hadn't rescued me, I'd still be down in that ditch."

He let this linger for a moment before he stood up. "Well, did you want to head out after you finish that cup?"

"Oh, no!" she protested a little too earnestly. "I mean, I wouldn't ask you to go out in this," she corrected, a shy smile playing on her lips. "Maybe if we wait a little the snow will stop. Besides, I don't think I'm ready to go out into that again just yet."

He beamed down at her, glad she'd be staying longer. "Neither am I," he agreed, settling down onto the sofa and reaching for his own cocoa.

"Mmm, Anthony, this is delicious!" Edith said as she sipped hers.

"Thank you." He raised his cup playfully and she reached over to clink hers to it.

Edith took another deep pull of the warm, perfectly choclately mixture, watching him.

"Anthony…" she said tentatively.

"Mmm?" He responded, mid-sip.

"Seeing as you don't have any plans tonight, I was wondering if you might…well, like to come spend Christmas with my family." She turned her eyes back to the fire as his fixed on her in surprise. "It's ok if you don't, but, you _are_ a friend of my father's and…it's Christmas and…"

She ventured a look at him, to find his sincere eyes fixed upon her own.

"Edith, if you really want me…" he began in a low voice that brought Edith's pounding heart up into her throat.

"I do," she said a little hoarsely.

"Then I would be honored to join your family for Christmas," he finished, and once again Edith found herself fixated by the angle of his jaw and curl of his lips. If only she had the courage to lean forward…

Little did she know, Anthony was fighting the same temptation. There was a bend in the top of her lip that he was just aching to taste…

But instead he cleared his throat and returned to his cocoa.

"Well, I'm glad we got that cleared up then," Edith said administratively, and took a hearty gulp.

XXXXX

A/N: I hope to have an update in this week, btw. Ch. 2 is awaiting revisions.


	2. A Turkey and Some Mistletoe

**A/N: Another ridiculously fluffy chapter. But I warned you… There should be two or three more chapters in this one, fyi. I may not get the chance to update again before Christmas, but I will try. Thanks to everyone for your kind response to Chapter 1! I know this story isn't groundbreaking, but I hope it evokes some of the joy of Christmas and brings a smile to your face.**

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><p><strong>Chapter 2: A Turkey and Some Mistletoe<strong>

"Oh Edith! We're so glad you made it, darling!" Said Lady Grantham in a voice that was both relieved and disapproving. "Your grandmother is snowed in." She embraced her middle daughter and then turned to offer a hand to Anthony.

"Sir Anthony! We can't thank you enough for bringing dear Edith home for Christmas. Won't you stay and have a drink before you go?"

"Actually, Lady Grantham—" Anthony began, from behind the stack of gifts he was carrying.

"Mama, I asked Antho—_Sir_ Anthony—to stay tonight. It seems the least we can do, and I think it's going to get pretty nasty out there. We were lucky it stopped long enough for us to get here."

"I hope you won't think I'm pushing in on your family Christmas…" Anthony said apologetically.

"Nonsense!" insisted Cora, ever the hostess. "We'd be delighted to have you! I'll tell Mrs. Hughes to make up a room. I'm sure Robert will be very glad you're here! It's been far too long since we've had you for dinner!"

With this she ushered them into the main hall where everyone was gathered around the Christmas tree, having their pre-dinner drinks. When they entered, George and Sybbie sprang up from the floor where they had been racing (and crashing) a set of matchbox cars, and with a cry of "Aunt Edith!" rushed over to meet her. Grinning, she bent to pull them into enthusiastic hugs.

"Merry Christmas you sweet little geese! Are you having fun?!"

They nodded their heads emphatically. "We decorated the Christmas tree without you!" George announced.

"And we made Christmas cookies!" Sybbie said, proudly.

"Well, I'm sorry to have missed them, but I'm sure they'll taste delicious. But here, I want to introduce my friend to you," Edith said, standing.

Two pairs of curious eyes fixed upon Anthony, who, placing his packages on a nearby chair, bowed low and offered his hand.

"This is Sir Anthony Strallan. Anthony, this is…," she prompted.

"George," George said a little shyly.

"And I'm Sybbie," Sybbie added.

"Well, I'm very pleased to meet you George and Sybbie. And I thank you for letting me share your Christmas. Tell me, has Father Christmas arrived yet?"

"No, not yet," Sybbie said with a melancholy sigh .

"Father Christmas can't come until you're asleep!" George said authoritatively.

"Oh, of course, I forgot!" Anthony said, exchanging a merry glance with Edith, who was watching their interaction with dancing eyes. "And what have you asked for this year?"

The children then entered into a detailed description of the very special toys that Father Christmas was going to bring: for George a remote controlled velociraptor with glow-in-the-dark scales; and for Sybbie a 3-foot Elsa doll. This led to a discussion of robotic toys Anthony had possessed in his youth, which made him an instant hit with his two young hosts. Then it was decided that Anthony must be allowed to marvel over George's collection of cars, with Edith trailing behind. So it was that when dinner was called, Anthony had been spared awkward small-talk with any of Edith's family. It wasn't until dinner was announced that he even said a proper hello to Robert, who was, as Lady Grantham had predicted, quite pleased to see him.

"My dear fellow, an unexpected pleasure," he said, shaking Anthony's hand. Anthony, whose eyes were lingering on Edith as she bustled the kids off to wash their hands, thought to himself that he could not have put it better himself.

At dinner, Anthony joined in the general conversation, more than once sharing a conspiratorial glance with Edith.

"What on Earth's the matter with you Edith?" Mary asked her halfway through the second course. "You're grinning like an idiot."

"Am I? I suppose I'm just glad that I made it home for Christmas," Edith said, undeterred.

Mary raised her eyebrows as if to say "well don't overdo it," and returned to her turkey.

Just as the family was strolling back into the hall for dessert, Carson entered and announced to his lordship that the church had called and cancelled services for that evening due to the snow. This caused a great deal of dismay to the children, who were devastated to be missing their chance to perform in the Christmas pageant.

"But mummie, I was going to be an angel! I practiced specially hard!" Sybbie said, crying.

"Oh darling, you can put on the pageant for us here," said Sybil, embracing her daughter, "How about that? We'll all pitch in. Won't that be fun?"

George, who was also pouting into the rug, perked up at this. "That's it! Come on, Sybbie!"

Within moments, the hall was transformed into a chaos of preparations, the children scurrying up and down the stairs to collect the needed props, costumes, and furnishings, with Sybbie's doll pram serving as the manger, and a variety of stuffed bears, ducks, bunnies and even a dinosaur or two filling the manger. Amid the bustle, Matthew's eyes travelled to where Edith was affixing a few sprigs of pine to Sir Anthony's snow cap in preparation for his role as Caesar Augustus. She was having some trouble, and the process was bringing the pair out in peals of laughter.

"Mary, have you noticed Edith this evening?"

"What about her?" Mary said through the safety pins clenched between her lips, one of which she presently removed to fasten swaddling clothes (a pillow case) around the doll honored with the role of Baby Jesus.

"She seems to have taken rather a shine to Sir Anthony," he nodded towards the pair.

Mary glanced up from her task for a fraction of a second.

"Are you sure?" she said disinterestedly, fastening another safety pin.

"My dear, you are a wonderful wife and a capable mother, but sometimes you can be awfully dense when it comes to Edith," Matthew said teasingly, sidling in to slide his arms around her waist and sneak a kiss into the nape of her neck.

She grinned at this. "I agree. My _one_ failing."

She turned from her husband to study Edith for several long moments. She was certainly flirting with Anthony, but did that mean she was serious? The Christmas spirit might be writing checks that neither of them would want to cash in the morning. And, dense though she might be, Mary knew that Edith hadn't exactly had great luck with men in the past. Would such an unequal relationship last?

"Alright, so she's got a crush, I'll warrant, but what about Sir Anthony? Is he serious? I mean—there's quite an age difference there," she observed.

"What are we talking about?" Tom joined them, munching on a brightly iced cookie in the shape of a Christmas tree.

"Edith and Sir Anthony," Matthew answered, regarding the sweet enviously. "Mary thinks he's too old."

"You know, I thought there might be something going on there. And as for him being too old, that doesn't really matter these days. Besides, Sir Anthony's a capitol fellow," Tom opined jovially.

"Come on dear, it's Christmas," Matthew good-naturedly cajoled his wife. "Would it be too much of a Christmas miracle to do something nice for your sister?"

She smiled scornfully at him. "Beast," she said fondly, then sighed. "Oh, alright. If you both think it's a good idea, I'm on board."

"That's my girl," Matthew kissed her. "Now, I'm after a cookie," he said, moving in the direction of the kitchen.

Mary watched him go, then turning back to the room, called to her niece.

"Sybbie, darling, have you and George decided who's to play Mary?"

Sybbie furrowed her brow to consider this most serious problem.

"What about you, _Mary_?" Suggested Grandma Cora, who was flipping through a hymnal to find the appointed songs.

"Oh no!" George opined emphatically. "She won't get to see _my_ part, then!" George had very carefully studied his part as the Angel Gabriel, including a short solo.

Mary nodded. "You're right my dear, I want to watch you, not perform."

Sybbie agreed with her cousin. "Yes, I want mommy and daddy to watch!"

"And Grandma and Grandpa Robert!" George insisted.

"Now darlings," Grandma Cora protested kindly. "I have to play the piano so you can sing, and you can't ask Sir Anthony and Aunt Edith to play _all_ the parts."

"Aunt Edith!" Sybbie exclaimed, rounding on her aunt with such a look of determination that she put that lady in mind very much of her mother. "_You_ can play Mary, and Sir Anthony can play Joseph!"

Edith blushed furiously and began scolding her niece. "Now Sybbie, you can't just—"

"No, it's alright, I don't mind," said Anthony with a crooked smile. Then to Sybbie he said "The play's the thing, eh?"

She nodded eagerly. "Thank you, Sir Anthony!"

The remaining parts were divided among the household staff—with Carson playing the innkeeper and King Melchior, and Mrs. Hughes and Mrs. Patmore playing the remaining Magi. Last but not least, Isis was drafted to play the donkey, and Robert was appointed narrator.

After some last minute preparations, the audience took their seats, and Grandma Cora gave a trill on the piano. Grandpa Robert began:

"In the sixth month the angel Gabriel was sent from God unto a city of Galilee, named Nazareth, to a virgin espoused to a man whose name was Joseph, of the house of David; and the virgin's name was Mary."

Edith stepped forward, a blue shawl draped over her head. George entered swiftly to a triumphant piano and, throwing out his chest, pronounced:

"Hail, you that are highly favoured….. the-the Lord is with you: blessed are you among women!"

"Who are you?" Edith read from the script in her hand, trying not to succumb to the giggles she felt building in her throat.

"Fear not, Mary!" Said George, standing silent for a few moments, and screwing up his face. "…for you… have found favour with God. And, behold, you shall conceive in your womb, and bring forth a son, and shall call his name Jesus," he finished hurriedly.

Then George sang two verses of "Hail Mary, Full of Grace," and with a hasty bow shuffled offstage.

"And it came to pass in those days," continued Robert when the applause ceased. "That there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus, that all the world should be taxed."

Anthony stepped forward, wearing his pine boughs, and with majestic gesticulation proclaimed:

"I Caesar Augustus, order that everyone must be taxed. Go now to your city of birth and be registered!"

Then he crossed over to where Edith stood giggling, a couch pillow stuffed under her shirt. There was a pause as Anthony bent to allow Edith to affix a green bath towel to his own head and took Isis's leash. They then set about to enter, but their donkey was not being very obliging. Isis sat; grinning up at them and wagging her tail, but despite his insistent tugs on the leash and enthusiastic encouragements, she did not follow them. After Cora's third time through "O Little Town of Bethlehem," Robert tried, but only succeeded in calling Isis to _him_, where she parked herself for the rest of the performance, laying contentedly at his feet. This brought some chuckles from the audience, but at the quelling looks from the children they silenced, and Carson stepped forward.

"I'm afraid we have no room in the inn," he pronounced gravely, and there was a smattering of applause.

"Please," Anthony begged him, placing an arm around Edith, "My wife is with child, and we have nowhere else to go."

Anthony looked over his shoulder at Edith, who was beaming up at him merrily from under her shawl. And suddenly he wished that it _was_ his job to love and protect her. Such a thought startled him, but before he could ponder it further he was recalled to the present as Edith tugged him offstage and Grandma Cora started playing "Away in a Manger."

Sybbie sang the first verse herself, to be joined by everyone on the second.

"And she brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger; because there was no room for them in the inn," Robert read, as Edith and Anthony took their places on either side of the pram, Edith having discarded the pillow, now holding the swaddled doll. She placed it in the pram and went to stand by Anthony as to their side, George appeared as a shepherd, and Sybbie, crowned with a glimmering tinsel halo and a wearing a pair of fluffy wings, called out:

"Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you; You shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger."

Then all sang "The First Noel." As they sang, Edith was struck by Anthony's unadorned but pleasant voice in her ear, and the simple passion with which he sang. She turned to look at him, and he smiled down at her. Edith felt a sense of contentment flood her being. As the song ended, she held his gaze, wishing they were alone, wanting the chance to further probe the mind behind those soft blue eyes…

But alas, there were now Magi approaching, singing a lusty version of "We Three Kings," and bearing gifts: a shoebox filled with tree garland (Gold), a bowl of potpourri (Frankincense) and a bottle of perfume (Myrrh).

Anthony and Edith took these gifts, and thanked the Magi.

Then, the lights were switched off and Grandma Cora struck the first notes of "Silent Night"—but Sybbie protested. "Wait! They have to kiss!"

"What?" her mother laughed.

"Mary and Joseph. They have to kiss!" she insisted. "They're _married_." She seemed to think this was all the explanation required.

"Darlin', I don't think the Bible says anythin' about Mary and Joseph kissing," Tom coaxed, trying not to laugh himself.

"Oh I know _that_," Sybbie said exasperatedly. "But this will make it _better_."

"Why not," Mary said, exchanging a sly glance with her husband. "I'll get some mistletoe—it will make it more festive."

Edith, meanwhile, was blushing visibly even in the candlelight. "I um…I'm sorry about this," she stammered.

"It's perfectly alright," he replied calmly. _I've been wanting to kiss you all afternoon._

Mary returned with the mistletoe and George took it and hurried over to hold it above their heads. This he did with the help of his father, who strained to lift him high enough to rise above Anthony's tall form.

"Any time now, Joseph," he grunted.

"Ah yes," Anthony said, looking Edith squarely in the face. "Well," he said, giving a little cough. "I suppose I'd better just—"

And he leaned in and seized Edith's lips in his own, feeling a rush of elation sweep through him. His passions urged him to deepen and prolong the kiss, but behind him he was vaguely aware of Matthew putting George down and reluctantly broke the embrace.

He opened his eyes to see Edith smiling timidly up at him. She raised a hesitant thumb to his lips, smearing away the remains of her lipstick. "I, uh, don't think the Virgin Mary wore Maybelline," she quipped.

He gave a small laugh. "No, I suppose not."

"Well, satisfied?" Mary asked Sybbie, recalling everyone's attention.

"Yes, it was perfect!" Sybbie sighed contentedly.

"Well, then, on to the finale," Grandma Cora said, turning back to the piano.

Everyone sang, slow and reverent. As they did so, Edith watched Sybil take Tom's hand, and Matthew put his arm around Mary. She felt Anthony's breath tickle her ear, mere inches away from her, and she yielded to it, slowly inching towards him until she could almost rest her head on his shoulder. Anthony's voice quaked slightly as the scent of her perfume reached his nostrils, wanting press a few kisses into the top of her head. Without touching, they stood keenly aware of each other's proximity, all but sharing the intimacy of an embrace.

And then, too soon, the song ended, and they had to part. Anthony swallowed hard and blinked dazedly as the lights came on and bedtime was announced.

As whining protests rent the silence, Edith snapped back into aunt mode, helping gather up all the pageant things, and get two sleepy children to bed. As she did so, Robert made his way over to Anthony.

"Enjoying yourself?" He said casually, handing him a glass of brandy and drawing him into the library.

Anthony pretended to admire the library's small Christmas tree so he could hide his blush behind the glow of its lights. "I am, rather. Thanks for letting me crash your Christmas. It's a long time since I really celebrated at all."

"I'm sorry to hear that. But then, that means you can enjoy some peace and quiet. I hope you didn't feel too put-upon there. Just a silly notion of the kids," Robert said apologetically, joining him.

Again, Anthony tried to hide his grin behind a generous sip. "Oh no, I think they're great fun. It's nice to spend time with youngsters."

If My Lord Grantham had noticed Anthony's blushes, he had ignored them, but at the wistful look that rose in his friend's eyes he said, "I'm sorry, old chap. I sometimes forget how alone you must be. Please, stay tomorrow and have dinner with us, and call round more often. We'll give you what company we can. And perhaps…"

He stopped at this. He and Anthony had a friendship of long standing, but it wasn't particularly intimate.

"What is it, Robert?" For a half a moment he felt certain that his friend was going to warn him off of his daughter. And why not? He was far too old. In the passing seconds his mind pursued this theme, realizing how utterly inappropriate he had been all evening, moping after a girl not even thirty, thinking that she would prefer his company to any other man closer to her age, her pace of life. His behavior began to take on the light of a pathetic creepy old man, when Robert's voice drew him back to the brightness of Christmas Eve.

"Oh, I just… Well I know you are probably a confirmed bachelor by now, but if you ever wanted to start dating again—it's never too late, you know, and I'd be happy to do anything I could to help." Robert said a little awkwardly.

Anthony gave a dry laugh. "I thank you for your concern, Robert. I'm not certain I'm ready to jump back into the pond just yet."

"Oh, hello! I should have known you'd be hiding in here, Edith said brightly, from the doorway. "The kids are nestled all snug in their beds. But I doubt either of them even knows what a sugarplum is."

One look into Edith's shining face and any resolution Anthony had been forming to resist his attraction to her vanished. Perhaps whatever this was would be mad and brief—but he couldn't cast it away.

"Admiring our handiwork?" she said, gesturing to the tree.

Following her hand, Anthony examined the ornaments in the dim light and realized that they were all homemade, with glitter and crayon, pipe cleaners and clothespins.

"Cora insists on putting this tree up every year," Robert explained. "It's even got some of my ornaments on it."

"I'm sorry to say that all the worst ones were made by me. I was never terribly artistic," Edith commented, fingering a crooked snowflake made of popsicle sticks.

He chuckled. "Yes but this one with your name on it is quite good," he said, pointing to another.

She laughed. "That one was made _for_ me, not _by_ me! Sybil made that one in Sunday School."

"Well, we can't all be Rembrandts," he grinned at her reassuringly. "I remember when I was twelve I tried to make my mum a birthday cake—complete with decorations and lettering."

"Oh dear," said Edith merrily.

"When I pulled it out of the pan in broke into two pieces, so to bridge the gap I used toothpicks and icing. Then I attempted to cover the inconsistencies by painting it to look like a globe."

Edith grinned appreciatively.

"It looked an awful, green mess and the food coloring stayed in my nails for a week," Anthony concluded.

"Oh but surely your mum enjoyed it all the same."

He grimaced playfully. "If I recall correctly, she sent most of the leftovers to school with me to share with my class."

She giggled.

"You know, baking is actually something I'm good at," she stated proudly.

"Ah, well then you'll have to give me a lesson sometime," he insisted.

"It's a da—I mean, we'll see," Edith replied, with a glance at her father, who was watching this exchange with a puzzled expression.

"Well, I'm off to bed," Robert announced, setting his glass on a table. "Don't be too late," he said over his shoulder.

"Alone at last," Anthony quipped, trying to sound as if he didn't mean every word of it.

Edith opened her mouth to respond when a groan reached them from the main hall. Hurrying out to see what was the matter, they were greeted by a panting Tom and Matthew, standing beside a large box which depicted its contents: a swingset.

"Our gift to the kids," Tom explained. "And bloody heavy!"

"I wish you'd have let me help," Anthony said, a little embarrassed.

Mary waved him off. "Nonsense. You're a guest. Besides, the work's done now."

"Edith, why don't you show Sir Anthony up to his room? He's going to need all his rest to withstand a Crawley family Christmas tomorrow," Matthew suggested with a sympathetic look at Anthony.

Edith turned to her companion with questioning eyes. He nodded, and she led the way to the staircase.

Behind them, Mary smirked affectionately at her husband. "Very subtle, my dear."

"I thought so," he grinned mischievously, kissing her.

XXX

"It has been years since I've been upstairs in this house," Anthony remarked as he and Edith reached the gallery.

Edith came to join him as he looked down into the hall, Christmas lights playing on his face.

"It's been years since I've done much of anything," he said with a frown.

Edith placed a hand on his arm, making him turn to face her. "Anthony, I know it may have seemed like an afterthought, but I'm _so glad_ you came tonight."

Her face was earnest, as if he wouldn't believe her. His frown melted into a small crooked, smile. His eyes sparkled. "So am I," he said, unconsciously moving forward to place a hand on her waist.

Her body shifted in response, leaning in to him and tilting her head upwards, her eyes glowing with invitation. For a moment he stood, drinking her in. This remarkable woman who had, in the short hours since he had met her, begun to take hold of his heart.

There was a footfall on the stair and Edith sprang away from him with a nervous smile.

"I—uh-guess I'd better show you to your room," she said, as Sybil and Tom rounded the corner.

"Off to bed you, two," Sybil scolded teasingly, "Or else Father Christmas won't bring you any presents."

Edith turned and led the way past several doors until she reached the one which had been designated as Anthony's.

"Well, here we are," she said, opening the door for him.

Beyond her, an elegant bed could be seen, lit by the flickering light of a fire.

"Well, goodnight," he said lamely, not moving into the room.

She stepped forward, placing a gentle but imploring hand on his forearm. "Anthony, I would very much like for you to kiss me," she said evenly.

He smiled at her boldness, letting his lids fall as he closed the distance between them.

"Oh, excuse me!" exclaimed Mrs. Hughes, bustling round the corner just as Anthony was about to touch her lips. "I just wanted to bring you some extra towels," she said, handing them to Anthony and continuing down the hall.

Edith watched her go and turned to Anthony with a grin. His eyes met hers and they broke into laughter.

"Merry Christmas, Anthony," she said through her giggles, pressing surreptitious kiss to his cheek before retracing her steps to her own room.

He pulled himself through the door and let out a final chuckle. "Merry Christmas, Edith."

XXXXX


End file.
